


Marionette

by cinereous



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Anal Sex, Horror, Light Knifeplay, M/M, Self-cest, Sexual Menacing, Stalking, The Magnus Archives Inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-09-07 08:11:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20306257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinereous/pseuds/cinereous
Summary: Joker was amazing. The Phantom Thieves certainly thought so. Even Akira had to admit that the version of himself that wore the mask was everything he aspired to be. However, it was Joker who was dangerous. And it was Joker who was stalking him and following him home.





	Marionette

**Author's Note:**

  * For [habenaria_radiata](https://archiveofourown.org/users/habenaria_radiata/gifts).

It was silently and unanimously agreed that Joker was the one that his friends preferred. They would never say so, of course, but they made their preference known in a million small ways.  
  
He'd heard Mona shout 'looking cool, Joker!' so many times it set his teeth on edge. Ryuji crowed with excitement over all of his slick moves and every 'badass' kill. Yusuke often made dreamy comments about his grace and finesse, and Ann was thoroughly starstruck by almost everything he did.  
  
The entirety of the Phantom Thieves group thought Joker was cool. They thought he was brilliant and clever and charismatic. And why wouldn't they? Joker wore the black leather. Joker twirled guns and daggers with debonaire ease. Joker raced along rafters, scaled roofs, and backflipped onto the shoulders of their enemies to rip masks from their faces.  
  
Every single thing he did as Joker was _better_. More artful. More stylish. More fierce. More interesting.  
  
And when they left the Metaverse all that was left behind was Akira. Akira with his thick, fake glasses, awkward silence, and invisible shackles. There was nothing fun about him in the real world. In reality, he was as uninteresting as he could possibly be to avoid notice from those that might wish to ruin his life.  
  
Akira couldn't blame his friends for their preference in Joker. The hero of a story needed to be powerful, beautiful, and daring. A mousy second year student wasn't the candidate to save the world. He would never understand why these abilities of the wildcard were given to him. As jealous of his alter ego as he might be, he wouldn't change things either. He had always been a helper and didn't require recognition to give aid to those who needed it.  
  
That was what he told himself at least.  
  
The truth was that the Joker his friends saw and adored was a lie. The others in the Metaverse seemed to be very much themselves. They were not swallowed by their own vision of rebellion. When he was there, Akira felt out of his body.  
  
He was a naturally dextrous person and had been highly gifted in gymnastics as a child, but the otherworldly grace he gained as Joker was positively inhuman. Every move he made when he was there felt too much like he was a puppet being guided through motions he could never hope to have achieved on his own. Akira could only do the unrealistic and amazing feats he did when Joker pulled his strings.  
  
He could not truly complain when he was in the Metaverse saving the day. Through Joker he was able to make positive change in the world. He was able to help where it was needed even when his hands were tied in the real world.  
  
The problem lied in the feeling that, more and more, Akira could still feel those strings even after they had returned to reality.  
  
Even now, as the Metaverse warped and bled around them, Akira rubbed at his wrists, feeling the leather of his gloves fading beneath his touch. The bright sunlight and noise of Shibuya rushed up to greet him before he was ready, and he squinted behind his stupid glasses, shoving his hands into his pockets to avoid the feeling of how naked they felt now.  
  
Around him, the others looked just as wiped out as he felt. The bone melting fatigue was just as intense as it had been the first time, and it felt oddly gratifying to look around the group and see them swaying on their feet and hiding yawns behind their hands.  
  
Their obvious exhaustion did not stop the praise from coming.  
  
"Another day, another bad guy set straight!" Ann celebrated with a big smile, still mindful of keeping her voice down in case of listening ears. "It's a good thing we have Joker! That one was tough!"  
  
The others chimed in with similar sentiments and playful teasing, Morgana sitting up with his paws on his shoulder to loudly chatter about how the bad guys couldn't handle Joker when he came looking for them. It was embarrassing.  
  
Akira rubbed at the back of his neck with unearned bashfulness at all of the awkward, glowing praise. His nod back to them was stiff, but it had very little to do with the soreness that gripped his body. Joker was whom they were all enthralled over. Not Akira.  
  
Thankfully, Makoto took command of the brief pause to remind them all of their upcoming exams. It worked like magic, and Akira watched them all scurry off one by one to get studying squeezed into their spare moments. It left him alone, hands buried in his pockets and his mind heavy and swirling like he was still amid the transition between worlds.  
  
Standing there he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Gooseflesh that was thoroughly out of place for this uncharacteristically warm day sprang up along his forearms. It felt like every atom of his body was slowly rising to attention like the twitch of a cat's ears.  
  
Straight ahead of him, past this teeming sea of bodies, was the intersection Akira had first seen Joker. He hadn't even known about the Metaverse then. It was the one story he had never told the Phantom Thieves about.  
  
How could he possibly describe that day? That moment when time literally stopped around him and blue flames erupted. Joker hadn't worn a mask that day, only a sinister smile. The sheer magic and power he’d felt still terrified him. Akira had not seen anything like it since.  
  
Strange voices in his head as he forged relationships, glowing blue doors no one else could see, and ripping off a mask that had been adhered to his skin all paled in comparison. No matter how many dreams he had where he woke chained and imprisoned, Akira could not shake off the feeling that the person who truly held all of the power and set this entire series of events in motion was the one who had first greeted him in Tokyo with blazing yellow eyes and a mysterious app.  
  
Perhaps that was why Akira felt so watched and uneasy at all times these days. It was the unsettling idea that if Joker pulled his strings in the Metaverse like a puppeteer...what was stopping him from doing it out here in the real world?  
  
And what did he _want_?  
  
The crowded street of Shibuya held no answers for him. Akira's fingers clenched into tighter fists in his pockets before he turned to walk down the steps to the station. His every move was forcibly casual, but the jagged ice that had settled along his spine did not melt.  
  
Akira followed the streams of people down to the platform, allowing himself to be herded along into the train. It wasn't unbearably full this afternoon, giving him some much needed breathing room. He grabbed hold of a pole and tiredly let his full weight slump against it.  
  
Darkness and small flashes of light cascaded across the windows of the car, and Akira yawned into his hand as he stared into that void listlessly. In his head, he went over his forever growing to-do list. He had homework and studying to do. He needed to go check in with Hifumi. He was almost out of toothpaste.  
  
The darkness careening outside the train flashed. Akira jolted against the pole, his heart growing spikes that sliced icily through his chest. He stared with wide eyes to the window, but only inky darkness met his gaze.  
  
He had been so sure...  
  
He had seen a flash of winking silver, a sultry swirl of blue, and a thrust of deep crimson all gone in a blink. The longer he gripped at the memory Akira could feel certainty sink into his bones. His heart softened by degrees and began to pump normally again, but he could not shake his fear. His fingers were numb and tingly, cold sweat making them slide against the metal pole.  
  
There was no time to ponder what it was he had seen before the train began to slow to a stop. Around him, the passengers already shifted restlessly towards the doors, blocking his view and jostling him as they went. Akira had little choice but to let himself be swept out along with them at Yongen-Jaya. Thankfully, street level was quieter here than in Shibuya.  
  
Akira stood there in the street feeling a cool breeze rustle through his clothes and his hair, leaves floating through the air past him prettily. The scent of petrichor was thick in the air, signaling a rainstorm moving in, but he could not help but wonder if something more sinister was blowing in along with it. He knew what he had seen down in the subway.  
  
Joker was _here_.  
  
There was no mistaking the spark of magic in the air that felt quintessentially like the Metaverse. It tasted like incense smelled; heavy and demanding on the back of his tongue and cloying with mystery and possibility.  
  
The ache in his bones grew more dense. The sunset that had been feeble behind the heavy cloud cover seemed to grow more intense and turned the deep grey evening into something dull crimson and unsettling.  
  
Akira hastened towards Leblanc, the panic fluttering in his chest like a caged bird. As he walked, his eyes shifted almost magnetically to his side. He had made this journey a million times before. There were half a dozen closed shops that he passed by every morning and afternoon on his way to the station. It did not seem to matter that they were not open for business. His eyes still slid over their darkened windows out of idle and morbid curiosity. Today was no different. The windows were grubby with dust and grime, but his reflection glanced back at him.  
  
He looked pale and stricken, eyes too wide behind the thick frames of his glasses. However, as he shuffled by, his reflection suddenly smiled back. It had a sharp and inhuman curl to his lips. Akira was positive he could not recreate it even if he had wanted to. And though the dark window did not reflect color well, Akira could see his eyes grow pale and golden.  
  
It was all so fast. When Akira jerked backwards a step to look again, it was only his terrified face that looked back. There was no hint of a barbed smirk or feral yellow gaze. Just him. Just Akira.  
  
"Fuck."  
  
The word was whispered under his breath, faint and breathless. He couldn't go to Leblanc. He couldn't lead this fiend directly to where he slept. He had yet to feel his presence in the attic. Perhaps the strange otherworldly entity that was stalking him had not yet found its way there.  
  
His heart was practically hammering against his ribcage the longer he stared dumb and trembling at his own face. Could he lose him? It felt like a longshot. He was practically already there. He could see Leblanc's greenery from where he stood.  
  
Perhaps he could walk past it? Guide this shadowy doppelganger to the convenience store down the road? The bright lights and cheerful atmosphere seemed promising. There was no logic to say that Joker could or couldn't enter such a place.   
  
Then again, there were people there. Could he truly lure something dangerous straight to them? Joker could freeze time. There was no telling what_ else_ he could do.  
  
Akira's decision was a hasty and panicked one in the end. He walked as casually as possible down the road while his insides were practically thrumming with adrenaline. Instead of turning right to enter Leblanc, he nonchalantly turned left instead.  
  
The tiny little alcove that led to the baths greeted him, dingy and vaguely foreboding, but Akira paid it little mind. He practically hurled himself into the tiny little laundromat where the scent of laundry soap and mildew assaulted him immediately. But it felt _safe_.  
  
The sensation of magic wasn't so strong here. Someone had started a load of clothes and wandered off, it would seem. The machine he was leaning forward on to strain and look down the alley through the windows rumbled and vibrated beneath his hands. He halfway expected to see a perfect mirror image of himself come walking down the little alley with a devilish grin and a spring in his step.  
  
But there was nothing.  
  
Akira stood there for what felt like a small eternity, his entire body tightly coiled with anxiety. His glasses slid lower down his nose from the cold sweat on his skin, and the entire time he waited the washing machine happily shook against his palms.  
  
At long, long last, he relaxed. His shoulders fell from their bunched up height, and the breath he had been holding eased out from between his teeth in a hiss. He couldn't believe it. That had _worked_.  
  
A burst of hysterical laughter left him as he leaned back from the washer to stand at his proper height. Complete bewilderment and relief bubbled up in him like an uncorked bottle of champagne, and his fingers tingled much the same way.  
  
On pure muscle memory, Akira pulled his phone from his pocket to glance at the time. He'd done the motion a million times. His thumb glanced off the button on the side, lighting up the display. No sooner had he seen his home screen before alarm bells thundered through his entire being.  
  
Magic exploded into being at his back, making his hair stand on end and gooseflesh to instantly materialize over his whole body. His phone fell from his suddenly nerveless fingers, crunching screen down onto the floor.  
  
The scent of leather filled his nose as a red gloved hand rushed around to cover his mouth. Panic filled him like battery acid, his heart making a desperate attempt to fly free of his chest. Joker, at his back, simply chuckled. The sound was sensual and terrifying. There were layers, uncanny and unsettling.  
  
"Shh,” he whispered. “Who would you even scream _for_?” His voice was hot against his ear and his breath heavy as a touch. Akira hated the shiver that ripped down his spine at the contact. He begged his brain to catch up, to break the rigor of terror that had it gripped.  
  
Joker kept moving, the hand not over his mouth sliding around his body with all of the elegant power of a snake to press up against his chest. In that breathless moment, Akira realized that the only sound was his own rushing pulse in his ears and the rumble of the machine in front of them.  
  
The sound of people had stopped. The static commentary of the old man's radio was gone. There was no laughter of children. No murmur of idle chatter between passerby. It was like the entire world outside of this tiny, cramped laundromat had gone still and silent.  
  
Leaving him utterly alone with his doppelganger. Joker was right. Who would he scream for?  
  
His double seemed to sense his understanding. Another chuckle slithered into his ear. His hand left his mouth, trailing down along his jaw and his neck. It went ever downward until it slipped beneath the hem of his shirt to trail feather soft along his stomach. It was such a companionable touch for someone who had just mentioned screaming for help.  
  
"What do you want?" Akira bit out, trying to force as much venom into his voice as possible. This creature that wore his face had been stalking him for weeks now, grinning from every blank window and mirror, his coat tails disappearing around every building's corner. With every flash of a dagger and lick of blue flames just on the edge of his vision Akira knew with absolute certainty that Joker was stalking him. Watching, waiting...  
  
_Herding_ him.  
  
But to what? This moment? It did not feel that way, no matter how scared he was. This felt more like a greeting than a threat. It was the first time Joker had ever shown up in the 'flesh' or touched him. Joker wasn't here to hurt him. Not today.  
  
This felt, bizarrely, like a sampling. Like he was the subject of a wine tasting. The intent was practically thick in the air like the dust in his attic. He could feel it in the way Joker's leather clad fingers caressed along the lines of his stomach and down to the faint trail of hair along his navel.  
  
Akira felt like fine fabric on display, dainty teacups thoughtfully dusted on shop shelves, delectable fruit ripening in the sun from a merchant's basket.  
  
Joker was _perusing_ him. His fear still nipped and bit at his consciousness, but now something like wonder and curiosity began to fill him up instead. _Why?_  
  
The need to know consumed him. The adrenaline coursing bitterly along his tongue went sweet and bright, electric with his excitement at this mystery and what would come next. Joker had still not answered his question, but it no longer mattered. The all too familiar sensation of flirting with danger was beginning to ignite through his veins.  
  
It very much felt like Joker could feel it too if the smirk pressed up against his ear was anything to go off of. "I'll ravage you," the other murmured, and Akira felt his stomach drop in something that was not altogether fear.  
  
The tone was very different from the one Joker used in the Metaverse. No. This was deeper, a veritable purr that made his knees buckle beneath his weight. Akira could not shake the sensation of blue flames blooming and unfurling in the pit of his stomach. His limbs felt heavy and his mouth went strangely dry.  
  
Was this him? Was this Joker's doing? Did it even matter?  
  
Endless questions filled his head to the breaking point, but they all seemed to disappear into thundering silence as red hands met at his fly and deftly moved to unbutton them. The sound of his zipper in the quiet was deafening, all teeth and the promise of more. Did he want that?  
  
Joker was _dangerous_. He was an unknown, the epitome of a wildcard. Did he want to invite that even closer and more intimate?  
  
The answer came so easily it was almost more terrifying than the feeling of a hand that was not his own touching him for the first time. It was somehow searing hot even through the fabric of his underwear and Joker's gloves. His arousal spiked painfully into an all out inferno in that split second, his mind jolting with a single word.  
  
_Yes._  
  
Shame chewed at him like acid, leaving pockmarks of pleasure in his skin under Joker's expert touch. The thief took his hastily melting reluctance as a clear green light. His chuckle filled the room like winding smoke, and his hands shoved his underwear down to join his jeans bunched up around his thighs. That first blast of air against his skin caused Akira to gasp, but make no move to try to get away. It may have been warm out, but it did not stop the shiver at feeling so sordidly exposed.  
  
Thankfully, Joker carried an inhuman heat to his body. Hot leather wrapped around his cock in a wicked hug that left what remained of his thoughts to scatter to the wind. The circle of his fist was tight enough Akira's eyes fluttered shut, and an indecent moan left him before he could even hope to stop it. Pleasure stabbed into his gut fast and intoxicating as if Joker was pumping him full of decadent poison meant to blot out his senses and bury his terror beneath a murky blanket of want.  
  
Akira's whole body flared with heat. He leaned forward more heavily against the washer to support his suddenly unmanageable weight, pressing his ass back in a silent, hungry plea for more. His double did not leave him wanting.  
  
His still clothed body pushed forward with unmistakable authority, shoving and advancing until he had effectively caged Akira up against the still rumbling machine. It was icy cold against his skin, and there was not enough room for his legs as his knees scrabbled uselessly against the slick surface. The clank of metal on metal from his jeans sounded like wild animal scratches to his feverish mind.  
  
All up and down his back was heat. Heat and leather and magic so palpable it felt like the purr of a large jungle cat along his spine.  
  
A crimson hand slammed against the washer right by his face. The motion was so abrupt Akira jumped violently in surprise, but the sound strangled out into a hiss of pleasure as Joker tightened the hand still wrapped around his cock. The texture of his gloves should chafe his delicate skin, but it only felt sublime; soft and tender and almost like a tongue. Nothing else had ever felt better. When Joker pressed the pad of his thumb with heavy pressure along the slit of his cock Akira sobbed, pressing his face against the cold of the machine.  
  
"You're _mine_," Joker whispered, the mask covered tip of his nose biting along his jawline and up along his cheekbone, not-quite sharp, not-quite kind. The words felt less like a threat or a claim of undeserved ownership and more like a simple utterance of fact.  
  
Akira could feel the way his pleasure pulsed in his palm, a bead of pre-cum pooling and sliding around the shape of his thumb to delicately drip to the floor. His legs shook and strong fingers slid into his hair, soft like a lover at first, but tightening into a harsh fist at the roots that sent razorblades of arousal cutting through him.  
  
"I want to show you your true self," Joker went on, the hand around his cock disappearing. The loss was enough Akira whined in protest, embarrassment sinking its claws into him for being so obvious in his hunger. "Without me...this is all you are. A human. A body."  
  
The hum of his voice was practically sweet, dripping with faux kindness. Akira wanted to protest. He felt anger swell in his chest. The roar of it was dimmed by the feeling of one of those unfathomably soft fingers pressing against his entrance. The indignation within him slammed against the dam of his own lust, collapsing and fizzling out to nothing but a faint inhale of surprise.  
  
Joker pressed his finger forward inside of his body. He expected pain, a burning sensation, a sting...anything to throw him out of this humiliating compliance. Instead, the movement was fluid and easy, the gloved finger bottoming out in a mere second.  
  
It didn't make any sense. It shouldn't be this way! Was he hallucinating all of it? The intrusion felt solid. Joker began to move and shift, sliding out and pressing in two this time around. Not even an implication of discomfort met him. Akira writhed against the washer, a keening moan drowning out any sounds of confusion or concern. Only a vague “the fuck-?” left his lips in that fleeting second.  
  
Lust took over. He shoved his body back over his fingers for more. The first brush of his fingertips against his prostate was absolutely life changing. It left Akira's vision blaring into darkness as his eyes snapped shut with pleasure so complete he felt breathless.  
  
"Oh fuck!"  
  
"You see?” Joker murmured, his voice like a caress all its own. “A body. A tool. Is that not how you view me?"  
  
Akira's insides washed over in a sheet of ice shards at that question. Did he? Did he view Joker as a means to an end? A helpful tool to only pull out when the world was in need of saving? No. No, he couldn't. His entire team viewed Joker as the superior version of himself. He understood that. He _agreed_ with that. Joker was what he aspired to be...not what he viewed as an instrument.  
  
He shook his head violently, chancing a glance over his shoulder to look Joker in the eye for the first time since that fateful day in Shibuya. His eyes were not blazing yellow. His own dark charcoal irises stared back at him.  
  
"N-no. You're not a tool. You're-...you’re the only good thing in my life."  
  
Terrifying, dangerous, and utterly sketchy he may be, but Joker gave his wretched post-arrest life meaning. Perhaps that is why he trusted him at all in this moment when he was so exposed and vulnerable.  
  
The fingers inside of him dug in without warning, barreling up against his prostate while Joker fell into a positively animalistic smirk that was all teeth and shadowed eyes behind the mask.  
  
"So human."  
  
Akira could not be sure if his words were meant as a compliment, an insult, or a simple stating of fact. It did not matter. Pleasure ravaged him just as Joker had promised he would do. It sundered through every one of his barriers and left him open like torn, dry fields begging for any relief he could give him.  
  
It seemed as if Joker could read his mind, and even that thought would not surprise him. Joker was a part of him, was he not? A piece broken off and given its own autonomy. It was simply a part of him that was not meant to see the light of day, and yet here they were, sun streaking through the grimy windows across their filthy display.  
  
The fingers eased out of him, and this time, Akira did not mourn their loss. The movement held a promise in it that hadn't been there before. Even the washing machine beneath him went still and silent with anticipation like it was also holding its breath for what was to come.  
  
No amount of steadying his nerves could prepare him for that first press of Joker's cock. Once again, no pain flared to life. There was only pressure and the sensation of being filled up to the brim that cascaded through him like sulfur bright fireworks. Inch by tantalizing inch, the duplicate of his own cock slowly pressed and demanded entrance into his body until finally Akira could feel the material of Joker's outfit brush against his backside.  
  
_Fuck._ From his tailbone up to his hair, he could feel sparks sizzling into his bones. His whole body trembled and heaved, and Akira mindlessly tried to dig his nails into the metal beneath him with no success. Nothing he could ever hope to articulate would ever be enough to describe how it felt.  
  
Joker leaned forward, pressing the entirety of his chest up against his back. Akira could feel the silken texture of his vest against his skin and the shift of small buttons digging into his shoulder blades. There was something so infinitely dirty about being bent over an appliance right there in the middle of a public place that drove nails of arousal into his entire being.  
  
He was dying for the other man to move. He felt like his whole body was suspended by a thread, held aloft and unmoving under his lookalike's power.  
  
A glint of silver out of the corner of his eye sent Akira flinching to the side only to find Joker's arm already there, his hand splayed on the washer and creating a solid cage with his body. His heart beat frantically against his ribs as Joker's free hand holding the dagger came into view.  
  
He'd known what it was. It had haunted him every day, invoking his paranoia and making him believe he was steadily losing his mind. That Joker would pull it out now while buried inside of him and giving him pleasure left Akira breathless and unsteady. Fear clawed up his throat like a wild animal even as that sultry voice slipped into his ear.  
  
"Shhh."  
  
Panic gripped him, but Akira could not move. Did not want to. Especially when Joker slowly eased his hips back and then snapped them forward again, shoving deeper and causing him to cry out. The pleasure almost whited out his gaze, but still he kept his eyes on the knife polished beautifully and seeming to reflect shadows that were not there.  
  
"Have you heard the phrase 'double edged sword?'" Joker asked almost casually. Akira could not answer before the blade was pressed tightly up against his throat in a malevolent silver kiss. "On one side of the blade you have gotten to do something worthwhile. You are powerful in the eyes of those you respect. You are doing good in the hopes of undoing the wrongs done to you."  
  
Akira swallowed around the knot forming in his throat, shaking all the more to feel the blade sink in that tiny bit from the movement. A trickle of blood welled and dripped down. The tickle of it against his skin felt bizarrely out of place amid so much terror.  
  
"On the other side of the blade, however..." Joker went on, and the blade disappeared to Akira's hysterical relief. He held his breath, feeling the feather of curls against his ear and the waft of heat before the sultry slither of a tongue on his neck sent a harsh shiver down his spine. Joker lapped up the blood with all the grace of a cat before a saucer of cream. "...you unleashed _me_."  
  
The words were like missiles in his mind. They exploded and swept away every last thought except for howling horror. He was not afforded time to consider the awful truth of his words. The knife seemed to have vanished into thin air. Joker's gloved hand sank deep into his hair for purchase, gripping tight enough tears pricked at his eyes.  
  
The slow, exploratory pace from before was replaced by something sharp, wicked, and fast. Akira cried out and moaned desperately into his own hand as Joker began to fuck him with brutal, exquisite precision. Every single thrust slammed into his prostate without apology or pause.  
  
If Akira were in his right mind, he would focus on the shame and embarrassment from earlier, but he could not. Every single inch of his being was filled and ignited, poised to combust. Dimly, he was aware of the sound of the washing machine beneath him. It banged loud as gunshots up against the wall in the utter silence of the world Joker had orchestrated. That blasting echo mixed with his own loud shouts of ecstasy to create an outright cacophony in the small space.  
  
The other gloved hand pressed to the front of his throat, uncomfortable but not choking, and Akira felt his head pressed down hard against the metal. Sharp teeth dug into his ear, claiming this bit of flesh, as one last powerful thrust slammed Akira so hard against the washer that his hips felt bruised.  
  
The pain was a distant annoyance. Orgasm struck him like an oncoming tidal wave. Strings of curses and pleas and mindless sounds tumbled past his lips as he came. Ecstasy drove through him again and again, made more intense with every smaller jerk of Joker's hips.  
  
The world reduced down to colors and intensity made tangible. His body no longer felt like his own as he lurched and scrabbled to stay afloat amid so much pleasure. What felt like an utter eternity later, Joker eased back, releasing his hold on his hair and letting his cock slip free. It left Akira feeling desolate, empty and sobbing to fill that sudden void that he had never experienced before. He laid there useless and shaking like a leaf, realizing with exhausted embarrassment that his pants were bunched up around his ankles by now, his ass on full display to the thief at his back.  
  
Joker read his mind once again. Amid his humiliation, soft hands pulled his pants back up, fastening them around his hips before slipping away mindfully. Akira sluggishly pushed off of the washing machine, his whole body feeling like jelly. Mementos and now this meant he had no energy to speak of.  
  
It was all he could do to watch Joker lean down and pluck his long forgotten phone up from the floor. The screen was covered in a depressing spider web of hairline cracks that slashed right through Akira's soul. It would cost a fortune to get a new phone right now.  
  
Joker simply smirked. He was all dark amusement and incredibly sexy even now in the intense post-coital drop. Akira watched in soft amazement as the man who wore his face pursed his lips and prettily blew air across his phone. It was more erotic than he would care to admit to thinking about someone who looked like him, but it was made all the more exciting and riveting to see the cracks in the glass slowly recede and melt like frost on a window in the sun.  
  
There in his red palm his phone sat perfect and unblemished, Joker's smirk reflected tinily in its dark surface. It was pressed into his pocket with all the familiarity of a lover, but Akira could not stop the feelings of 'danger' that were bubbling frantically to the surface now that lust was not clouding him.  
  
"You should be more careful with what belongs to you,” Joker purred, his smirk sliding further into a full on wolfish grin of delight. The words felt heavy with double meaning, slick and treacherous.  
  
“You don't want to break what you will need to make use of later.”  
  
Akira blinked, and he was gone.


End file.
